out this very window, at that very tree. "'-T' h d " B .L ou re suc a reamer, runo says, and maybe I am Maybe I was also dreaming this_ In a moment the doorbell would ring, I'd open my eyes, and Bruno would be standing there asking if I had a roll of toilet paper_ I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew Bernard was standing above me. "Sorry! I didn't realize anyone was in here. Are you sick?" I sprang up_ If the word "spring" can be used in reference to my movements at all, this was the moment. And that's when I saw it. It was on a shelf right behind his shoulder. In a silver picture frame. Bernard turned_ "Oh, that," he said, taking it down off the shel[ "This is my mother when she was a girl. Did you know her then?" Let's stand under a tree, she said. Why? Because it's nicer. Maybe you should sit on a chair, and I'll stand above you, like they al- ways do with husbands and wives. That's stupid Why? Because we're not married Should we hold hands? We can't_ Why not? Because people will know. Know what? About us. So what if they know? It's better when it's a secret. Why? So no one can take it .from us. "I found it in her things after she died," Bernard said_ "It's a beautiful photograph, isn't it? She didn't have much from over there. A couple of photos of her parents and her sisters, that's all. Of course, she had no idea she would never see them again, so she didn't bring much_ But I never saw this one_ Don't know who he is. Friend of hers, I guess. It was in an envelope with some papers in Yiddish." If I had a camera, I said, Iä take a pic- ture of you every day. That way Iä remem- ber how you looked every single day of your life. I look the same. No, you don't. You're changing all the time. Every day a tiny bit. IfI could, Iä keep a record ofit all If you're so smart, how did I change today? You got a .fraction of a millimeter taller,for one thing. Your hair grew a .fraction of a millimeter longer. And your breasts grew a .fraction of a- They did not! Yés, they did What else, you bigpig? You got a little happier and also a little sadder. How do you know? Think about it. Have you ever been happier than right now? I guess not. And have you ever been sadder than right now? No. It isn't like that for everyone. Some people just get happier and happier. And some people, like Beyla Asch, get sadder and sadder. What aboutyou?Areyouthehappwstandsaddest right now that you've ever been? Of course I am. Why? Because nothing makes me hap- pier and nothing makes me sadder than you. We stood together looking at the photograph_ Bernard patted my back. "I'd love to stay here reminiscing," he said, "but I really should go. All those people out there." He gestured. "Let me know if you need anything_" He closed the door behind him, and then, God help me, I took the photograph and shoved it in my pants_ Down the stairs I went, and out the door_ In the driveway, I knocked on the window of one of the limousines. The driver roused himself from sleep_ "I'm ready to go back now," I said_ To my surprise, he got out, opened the door, and helped me in. W hen I got home, I thought I'd been robbed. The furniture was overturned, and the floor was dusted with white powder. I grabbed the base- ball bat I keep in the umbrella stand and followed the trail of footsteps to the kitchen. Every surface was covered with pots and pans and dirty bowls. It seemed that whoever had broken in to rob me had taken his time and made himself a meal. On the kitchen table, next to my typewriter, was a large cake, sunk in the middle. Standing, nonetheless. It was frosted with yellow icing, and across the top, in sloppy pink letters, it read "LOOK WHO BAKED A CAKE_" On the other side of my typewriter was a note: 'WAlTED ALL DAY." I couldn't help it, I smiled. I put the baseball bat away, picked up the pots and pans, took out the picture, breathed on the glass, rubbed it with my shirt, and set it down on my night table. It had been a long time since anyone had given me a gift. A feeling of happiness nudged my heart. That I could wake up each morn- ing and warm my hands on a hot cup of tea. That I could watch the pigeons fl)!. That at the end of my Me Bruno had not forgotten me_ . . Extraordinary handmade, hand-painted ceramics and home fùmishings. Call for our new Spring catalogues. 1-888-665-1999 ;: M cKENZiE-CHiLDS ....1"" www.mackenzie-childs.com . ....... 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